The Sicilian's Secret Son

CHAPTER SEVEN

ANNAH STOOD HER ground despite the jittery sensation in the pit of her stomach and the inner voice warning her to flee.

Luca’s eyes might be glittering with wolfish intent, but he wasn’t going to do anything. Not with his son sleeping down the hall and his mother downstairs. This was just a scare tactic to avoid a conversation he didn’t want to have.

She crossed her arms over her chest. ‘I’m not going until we’ve talked,’ she said, putting a slight emphasis on the word talked in case he mistakenly thought she had other ideas.

He shrugged. ‘Suit yourself.’

And then he closed the door and crossed to another, leaving her to follow.

Annah felt a ping of relief. Like the guest bedroom, this room probably had an adjoining sitting room. Somewhere they could sit and have a conversation. She wanted to know why he’d spoken to his mother the way he had. She still had a lot to learn about Luca, but she didn’t believe he was a cruel man. Neither did she believe he would cancel his plans to spend time with their son without good reason. But she couldn’t excuse his absence, or his behaviour, unless she understood what was going on with him.

He pushed open the door, and she followed him into the next room and then stopped short. It wasn’t a sitting room. It was the biggest walk-in wardrobe she’d ever seen. So big there was even an island in the centre populated with drawers and cubby holes stacked with shoes and neatly folded clothes. She lifted her gaze and blinked at long rows of hanging designer suits and shirts.

‘I thought you wanted to talk.’

Luca’s dry-voiced remark jerked her attention back to him. She hovered uncertainly against the wall, close to the doorway, and tried to stop her eyes from widening as Luca began to unbutton his shirt.

She swallowed and then cleared her throat. ‘Why did you say something so hurtful to your mother?’

He paused on the last button and looked up. ‘I am not having a discussion with you about my mother,’ he said flatly. And then he peeled off his shirt and tossed it into a laundry basket.

Annah pressed her palms against the wall behind her and tried to control where she looked, but her eyes slid helplessly downwards, roving over powerful shoulders, strong arms, and a broad chest that was a true masterpiece of hard muscle and taut skin with a fine dusting of dark hair over impressive pecs.

A wave of heat crashed through her. She forced her eyes up. He was watching her and she suddenly felt exposed, as if he could see on her face just how badly she wanted him. He moved towards her, his dark eyes burning into hers until she felt the heat sizzling all the way down to her pelvis.

He planted his hand on the wall beside her head, between her and the doorway. With lazy movements, he lifted his other hand and wound a tendril of her hair around his forefinger. ‘Do you ever think about that night in London?’ he murmured.

She thought about saying no, but he’d know she was lying. ‘Yes,’ she admitted after a moment. ‘Do you?’

‘More often than you can imagine.’

His answer made her heart stutter. She sucked in a breath. This was dangerous. Reckless. Like playing with fire and hoping she wouldn’t get burnt. ‘I... I should go,’ she croaked.

‘Is that what you want?’ he challenged in a husky voice.

She pushed her head back against the wall. He was so close she could angle her chin and press her mouth against his throat if she wanted to. All these years later, she still remembered how it felt to kiss his skin. The heat of him against her lips. What it was like to explore his body with her unskilled mouth and make him shudder and groan. A longing rose, so powerful it made her chest ache. Her clitoris throb. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘It’s not what I want.’

His eyes smouldered and then he pulled her against him and captured her mouth in a hot, urgent kiss.

Annah’s insides caught fire. Leaning into him, she kissed him back and let her hands slide over his shoulders and torso, relishing his taste and the delicious feel of smooth skin over hard, powerful muscle.

God, how she wanted him.

And if the hard ridge pressing against her belly was any indication, he wanted her just as much.

The knowledge intensified the ache between her thighs, and a little whimper of need climbed her throat. As if he understood, his hands went to the front of her jeans and deftly undid them. When he slipped one hand inside her knickers, she gasped against his mouth.

‘I’ve dreamed of touching you like this,’ he said roughly, his fingers stroking between her sensitive folds while his lips trailed across her jaw and down her neck. ‘Do you remember how it was, cara?’ he growled against her throat. ‘How good we were together? How you came apart in my arms?’

‘Yes,’ she breathed, clutching his shoulders, gasping her pleasure as she writhed against his hand and shamelessly pushed her most sensitive part against his palm. It didn’t take much more—only the slide of his fingers inside her—to have her climaxing in a hot, wet rush.

A low moan poured from her throat, matched by a deep growl of satisfaction from Luca.

And then their mouths melded again, their kissing growing more heated, more frantic. Luca pushed her top up, freed one of her breasts from its lace cup, then dipped his head and covered her already taut nipple with his mouth.

Annah gasped, the hot wire of need tightening at her core again. Her hands went to the waistband of his trousers, fingers fumbling as she worked at the belt and zipper and then finally freed his glorious erection. She closed her hand around the silken length and he sucked in his breath.